Sown on the Dusky Clods
by Ansuz
Summary: A story about those who are different. New Avalon has become a haven for undead who shun the Scourge and the Forsaken, but their fragile way of life is disrupted by the appearance of a human woman and her child.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: World of Warcraft belongs to Blizzard, not me. I make no profit from any of this. Sadness. Also, all the names in this story were made up on the spot. Any likeness to actual players is unintentional (save for my characters, of course.) 

**Warning**: None in this chapter, save for plot. Overall, nothing should exceed the game content.

"As soon as thou hast yoked the strong oxen, and with thy might and thy prowess hast ploughed all the stubborn fallow, and now along the furrows the Giants are springing up, when the serpent's teeth are sown on the dusky clods, if thou markest them uprising in throngs from the fallow, cast unseen among them a massy stone; and they over it, like ravening hounds over their food, will slay one another."

_- The Argonautica_

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_Sown on the Dusky Clods_

_Chapter 1_

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Aumna leaned against the rotten mailbox, hung her sunbane over a torch, and balanced it between her lips. She inhaled and watched toxic blue smoke slither towards the sky. A wave of cold, immovable calm settled into her belly. She shut her eyes and savoured its taste. Rev'n observed the ritual with chilly eyes, but his hands remained motionless. They sat outside what had been the New Avalon inn and didn't speak for a time.

"What do you think?" Aumna inhaled deeply and felt another dizzying chill run down her throat.

Rev'n raised a brow, which was emphasized by the mask that hid his face and neck, and the wound that killed him. He made several efficient gestures. _You should stop smoking so much sunbane_.

"A blood elf is going to lecture me on the dangers of addiction?" She scowled and examined the silhouettes repairing the armoury's roof. "I was talking about the buildings."

_Who better? _Rev'n's hands moved gracefully. _Mograine will destroy you if he discovers this weakness_.

Aumna grunted and resumed smoking. "I know."

Rev'n looked at her, then the town square. Mezian walked by singing an off-tune pub song and carrying a tightly rolled sheet of vellum. Maggotsmasher lumbered after him gurgling the chorus.

"That damn knee-biter is going to kill us all."

Rev'n punched her shoulder. _Typical racist human_.

"So?" She chuckled. "It's true."

They sat together until faint shouting pierced the clamour of construction. Rev'n stiffened, ears jutting out of his hood. He gestured curtly.

_Follow me_.

"What's wrong?" She murmured lazily.

Rev'n bolted across the open square, eyes blazing. Aumna sighed and followed suit, sunbane hanging precariously in her mouth. Down by the misty shore a crowd had formed. She hesitated on the lip of the hill, loathed to approach so many people. Voices rode the wind, close to shouting. The tension was palpable.

"Damn," she sighed and tossed her sunbane onto the ground. Everyone parted for her, their eyes darting in the fog like fireflies. Hoss and Muvad were the last to part for her, their old Lordaeronian uniforms reflected the faint sunlight. "What's going on?"

"Strange things," Hoss replied in his provincial twang. "_Very_ strange."

"It's a woman," Muvad added, scandalized.

"So? Kill her."

Rev'n tapped Aumna's arm and walked to the water's edge. A small boat wobbled in the shallows, its oars clunked as the incoming tide dragged it back and forth. They grabbed prow and stern, and pulled it onto the sand. Everyone leaned in to look. A human woman lay curled up between the benches, a baby neatly tucked in her arms.

"Maybe…" Muvad shifted nervously, "maybe she's lost."

"Scourged, more like." Hoss spat on the ground. "And the Scarlet Crusade sent her to us as a nice little present."

Aumna leaned close. "I don't smell the plague on her." She drew back quickly, head spinning. "Stinks of the living, though."

Rev'n raised an eyebrow. He teased the mask draped across his face. The sun drooped towards the horizon, its light barely discernable against the waves crashing on the shore. He looked at Aumna, but her gaze was lowered, unfocused.

"What should we do?" Muvad stepped closer. His eyes glinted beneath the lip of his winged helmet. "Aumna?"

"Mm?"

Rev'n slammed his palm against the side of the boat. Aumna jumped.

"Yes, I heard you." She stared at the infant. "Well, ah…put them in the old church. Get Duskrunner to treat them, but keep them from seeing what they shouldn't." She looked up to where the Acherus hovered like a dark planet. "I will tell Mograine."

"Aye," Hoss said quietly. "Let me in, Rev'n. I'll take this one." He bent over and scooped the woman up in one easy motion. The child had been swathed in linen and tied against her chest. It opened its eyes and cried weakly. The woman's limbs swung listlessly as he turned and walked up the hillside.

Aumna watched for a moment, then drew closer to the boat. The oar handles looked worn and ill-used. Rev'n stared at her. She briefly met his eyes and nodded reluctantly. The crowd around them began to disperse in typical undead fashion: silently and without preamble. Muvad replaced her spot and leaned over the boat, head cocked.

Tearing open a Death Gate was never easy. Aumna had to repeat the spell three times before she finished the incantation correctly. The air split with an implosive rasp and an arc of dark energy stood before her. She stepped through. The dark halls of the Ebon Hold suddenly loomed around her. Several knights turned and stared with open hostility. She ignored them and stepped into the purple circle that immediately hurled her to the floor below.

Aumna blinked away the dizziness and turned around. Highlord Mograine sat mounted on his deathcharger, expression hidden by a snarling faceplate. She approached silently, aware that his eyes tracked her progress. His horse's ears flicked back and she dared go no closer.

Mograine shifted to get a better look. "You," he rasped lowly, "why are you here?"

"A human and her babe have come ashore." Aumna's hand automatically went to her pocket for another roll of sunbane. She passed off the gesture as a casual swipe against her belt. "She bears no supplies, no signs of allegiance, but she is one of the living." When Mograine said nothing, she hazarded, "do you wish for me to kill her?"

"Kill a woman and her child?" Mograine managed to sound appalled and scathing at once. "What sort of knight have I allowed into my order?" He leaned forward, armour clinking in the silence. "I commanded you to keep watch over the defectors, not to join them."

"Forgive me." Aumna bowed her head, lips pressed into a frigid line. "What would you see done?"

"Extract all the information you can. Return to me when her usefulness is at an end."

"Yes, Highlord." She bowed and stepped back, but froze when Mograine raised his hand.

"A word of advice."

"Of course, Highlord."

"The biggest difference between ourselves and the Scourge is our will, our restraint. Should you ever find yourself blind to that difference, knight, I suggest you end yourself." His tone plunged to a low, metallic rumble. "Because when _I_ find you, everything you know about suffering will pale against my teachings. And the lesson will be _unending_."

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R&R if you want to. Don't if you don't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning**: Very mild sexual implications, swearing, and threats.

Translation was provided by WoWWiki.

Hello everyone! Thank you for your reviews. I do appreciate them. Please enjoy.

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Chapter 2

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Hoss sauntered up the path towards the church. It sat partially rebuilt on the hilltop, stripped of its charred timbers, and had the clean look of a human settlement. He followed Rev'n past the various undead involved in its restoration, in the door, and down into the undercroft. Kiyarl Duskrunner stood in the corner lighting another candle. She watched them enter with white, weary eyes.

"Ishnu-dal-dieb."

"Hullo, Ki." Hoss gently placed the human on the table. "An interesting case for you."

Kiyarl stepped closer. Her white robe failed to conceal how thin she was. "A human?" She tilted her head, her skin the colour of a healing scar. "How strange."

"What's wrong with her?"

Kiyarl frowned and pinched the woman's arm. The skin remained wrinkled. "Dehydration," she whispered and drew her thin fingers across the baby's face. It gave a startled wail. "And too frail to be bearing children." She drew the oversized sleeves back and paused when a mark came into view.

Hoss reluctantly leaned closer, wary of the squalling child. "Is that a bite of some kind?"

"I believe so." Kiyarl shifted so candlelight fell across the woman's torso. "It is very deep." She murmured a quick incantation and a shower of golden motes swirled around the exposed flesh. The mark remained unaffected. "It is resistant to my magic." She repeated the spell, but her hands trailed over the woman and her child. A larger splash of light lit the room, followed by a soft groan. "Please, Rev'n, can you fetch me some water?"

Rev'n hunched over and slipped out the room and up the stairs. Hoss watched him go with narrowed eyes.

"She is waking."

Hoss approached without complaint. He watched her go through the paces of awakening. She had the typical blonde hair and blue eyes of the northern kingdoms.

The woman's first instinct was to soothe her baby. She blinked several times and sat up, a pale horror taking hold of her expression. "Undead," she croaked. "Undead!" Her voice rang between the stone walls like a bell. Kiyarl stepped forward, but the woman went taut. "Stay away from me. I will kill you. Stay away! Don't touch my baby!"

Hoss frowned, perplexed.

"Peace." Kiyarl folded her hands on the table. "We are neither Scourge nor Forsaken." When the woman made no response, she smiled. "My name is Kiyarl Duskrunner. This," she made a slow gesture to Hoss, "is Hoss Blackhammer. We hold ties with the Ebon Blade."

The woman licked her cracked lips. "Why am I here? Are you going to kill me?"

"Of course not." Kiyarl's pale eyes crinkled in amusement.

"You drifted onto our beach, girlie." Hoss hooked his thumbs in his belt. "We found you unconscious in a tiny boat. This is what used to be New Avalon."

After a tense pause, she bowed her head. "How do I know you won't kill me?"

Hoss squinted incredulously. "Because…you're still alive?" He grinned and switched to a sophisticated, high-born accent. "We were going to eat you—"

"Hoss!"

"—but Ki said that would be very bad form." He pointed to Kiyarl's rigid profile. "You know how formal night elves are. Introductions must be made, _then_ we'll eat you."

Kiyarl pinned him with a cold, unblinking glare. "Enough," she said and directed a smile at the woman. "I apologize on his behalf. We intend no such thing."

"Oh." She regarded them with fear and incomprehension. "Well, I…. My name is Haladra Swaywheat. This," she held her child close to her chest, "is my daughter Avrial." She inhaled shakily. "I'm so thirsty, may I have water?"

"It's being fetched as we speak," Hoss replied with a sly grin. He settled under Kiyarl's reproving look.

After a delicate pause, the night elf asked, "How old are you?"

"Fifteen summers." Haladra eyed them with a touch of resentment. "What business is it of yours?"

"Fifteen." Hoss whistled and turned away. "Fanatics like 'em a bit young these days."

Haladra gasped, face reddening.

Kiyarl's smile was forged from iron. "Hoss," she said softly, "your talent for the inappropriate is boundless."

"You were thinking it, too."

"The important matter is that you will receive no harm from us, Haladra. The Ebon Blade has a truce with the Alliance." Kiyarl ignored Hoss altogether. "I have one more question, if I may."

Haladra stared sullenly at the table. "Yes?"

"You have a bite on your left arm. I cannot heal it. Where did you sustain such a wound?"

Haladra nodded, eyes dimming. "I was told it would be gone." She blinked rapidly and slumped over Avrial's squirming body. "I came to Tyr's Hand in search of fellow survivors…fellow citizens of Lordaeron. It was a long journey and one of my father's men accompanied me. He would gather wood and food, and I would cook. But one night he vanished into Silverpine Forest and didn't return. I waited and waited, but in the end I had to flee."

She drew a shaky breath and Kiyarl nodded encouragement.

"It was a few hours after we had been separated that I was attacked. A great…bear burst from the undergrowth growing by the road and it was on me before I could think to run." She drew her sleeve back and stared at the fresh scars that dotted her arm. "It had my arm in its mouth. I felt like a piece of straw caught between horse teeth." She swallowed thickly, voice turning flat. "A Forsaken patrol caught sight of it and turned its attention away from me. Luckily, the thing seemed more interested in violence than an easy kill. I ran along the old road to Southshore and…well, to put it simply, I fled to Ambermill. The priest there couldn't heal the wound, either, but it unsettled him greatly. He told me to seek out the Scarlet Crusade at Tyr's Hand. Their understanding of dark magic was unparalleled. So I did."

Rev'n returned with a skin full of water. He plopped it on the table and left with an air of contempt. Kiyarl cast a purifying spell over it and Haladra emptied it with slow, restrained gulps. She nodded her thanks and gently swayed Avrial when she started fussing. Hoss dragged two chairs from the other side of the room, and the two undead seated themselves.

"The Kirin Tor couldn't help you?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"No one would. The wizards were busy studying the plague and the dormant ley line…they had no interest in bites." She swallowed thickly. "I came to Tyr's Hand and the Scarlet Crusade agreed to hear my tale. They arranged for me to stay in the basement of a priest's home. Life in the city was strict. All civilians had to be inside by sundown and, to be honest, bearing Avrial was difficult. I slept almost immediately during this time and that's why things stayed the way they did." She looked down at her daughter. "One day the priest I resided with died. Murdered. It was then that they held me for questioning and began to really listen to my troubles. I was let go with the promise that a solution would be found. My routine continued, save that the people around me drew away from my presence. Then, the last day I remember, they found an answer. I _knew_ something was wrong, but I…I woke here." She opened her mouth to say more, but then clamped her lips together and avoided their eyes.

"Strange." Kiyarl frowned. "Did they abandon you to the sea? For what reason? Surely it must have been dangerous travelling to the sea now that they have lost direct access to it."

"Bones below!" Hoss stood up, chair toppling over. "You're not plagued, you're _cursed_."

"Hoss…."

"We've got to leave right now." Hoss grasped Kiyarl's arm, but she remained unmoving. "Damn you both. I thought the tales of Arugal had spread all over Azeroth."

Haladra blinked slowly. "What time is it?"

"Dusk," Kiyarl replied. She stood up, towering over Hoss by a head, and calmly took out some honey-spiced lichen. "Eat this after we leave. We will bar the door until morning."

Hoss hesitated. "The baby…."

"If you try to steal her away, I will tear out your eyes!" Haladra slid off the table. "Stay away from her."

"It takes many days to travel from Ambermill to Tyr's Hand. She has not harmed Avrial so far," Kiyarl said. "I doubt the child is in danger now." She ushered Hoss out the door, blowing out candles as she went. "All will be well."

Haladra began to pace. "Yes, yes." She eyed the lichen. "Thank you."

Kiyarl closed the door, locked it, and propped spare lumbar against it. Hoss watched her, lips pressed into a thin line.

"That won't hold a worgen, Ki."

"I know." She straightened, shivering. "We must find Aumna."

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Ishnu-dal-dieb: _Good fortune to your family._


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning**: Minor violence, implied drug use.

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Chapter 3

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Rev'n walked soundlessly across the open square. No one turned to look at him. He headed towards the bluff overlooking the ruins of Havenshire where Aumna would descend from the Acherus. Only a few torches lit the main areas, but the dim shapes of labourers continued to move despite the late hour. The distant roar of the sea drifted on the wind.

"Rev'n!" The elf spun around, hands on his daggers. "Rev'n," the man said again, emerging from the gloom as faint and silvery as the stars above. "I need your help. Where…." He glanced around. "Where is Aumna? Hasn't she returned?"

Rev'n shook his head.

"Bones below." Hoss took off running. Rev'n cursed him, but his words emerged as a broken gurgle. People looked, then. He followed Hoss to the edge of New Avalon, but froze in the entryway between two ruined towers. Muvad's voice cleaved the silence.

"Beware! A worgen is among us!"

The old church bell boomed overhead. Rev'n turned back and ran across the square. The moon was a thin crescent overhead and provided little light, but enough torches had been lit that the path was clearly visible up the hill. The church loomed ominously. It stood silent and empty, its pale stonework illuminated by two torches. Several mangled corpses lay strewn across the ground. None bore Aumna's distinctive armour.

Rev'n unsheathed his dirge daggers, carefully oiled to avoid reflecting light, and blended into the shadows. The steps were dark and slick and reeked of copper. He stepped quietly towards the undercroft. The stone arch housed a gaping black hole; only broken hinges reflected the distant torchlight. Splinters littered the floor as if the door had been hit by cannon fire. The air felt thick and close. It carried an animal smell. He hesitated in the doorway, but eventually stepped inside. Darkness swallowed him whole.

The walls were damp and even. Rev'n followed them, a map of the room in his mind. Something snuffled to his right and the silence drew taut. He froze, ears perked. The sound repeated at the same volume, at the same distance. He blinked repeatedly, but only a faint grey-scale of shapes emerged from gloom. He reached out and grasped the edge of Kiyarl's table. Something fell to the floor with a musical _tnk-tnk_.

A low burble broke the silence. Rev'n moved farther right, hands blindly scrabbling over Kiyarl's surgical tools and coming across the soft flesh of Avrial. She wailed in terror, hands and legs curling upon themselves.

Rev'n sheathed his daggers and lifted Avrial off the table. She stiffened in his grasp and wet herself. He gurgled in revulsion, which made her cry louder, and fled into the night air. His spine tingled as he leaned back against the church wall. One of the torches had expired, but the one above him still threw some light across the path. He balanced her in the crook of his elbow, rummaged in his belt, and held up a purple vial. Avrial let another skull-piercing cry as he uncorked it, upended it with an edge of the linen blanket stuffed inside, and set it down between his feet. An enraged roar shattered the silence. Avrial shrieked in response.

He waited until the right moment and dabbed the poisoned linen on her gums. She shut her mouth, throat working frantically, and then slowly relaxed. He unsheathed one dagger and ran down the slope, and had almost reached the square when a dark shape slammed into the ground beside him. He held Avrial close to his ribs, free hand poised.

"Ugh…ah…Rev'n?"

He croaked softly.

"Good man. Ahhh." Hoss struggled to his knees, his helmet's horse hair crest sagged over his eyes. "That girl has a damned good arm. Got me right in the belly."

Rev'n bent down beside him and revealed Avrial's still form.

"Bones below, Rev'n. You didn't actually kill her baby, did you?"

Rev'n shook his head, eyes narrowed into baleful yellow triangles, and kicked Hoss in the stomach. He teetered over, mouth parted in a silent scream. The blood elf kept going down the hill with curses at his back.

Torches cast the old cobblestone streets in orange-red. Black silhouettes slipped up and down the square like tiger stripes. Everyone was shouting. Rev'n emerged from the shrubs at the slope's end and assessed the chaos. Aumna's sleek shadow stood near the old inn, naked blades hanging by her hips. Her helmet was tilted upward.

A thunderous roar cleaved through the confusion. Haladra leapt from the rooftop and slammed into the cobblestone. The bell gave another peal. No one moved. She slowly stood up, a red-tinged silhouette in the firelight. Aumna crept towards Haladra, but her armour betrayed her. The worgen spun around, teeth glistening.

"No one move!" Aumna stepped closer, eyes burning. "Stay back and shut-up, all of you."

Rev'n pushed his way towards Aumna. She was only partially visible around the worgen's massive back, but her presence was loud and cold compared to others. No one challenged her command.

"I killed Arugal," Aumna hissed, face as white as moonlight on snow. "It only makes sense that I kill one of his pups, too."

Haladra flexed her arms and howled at the moon. Her canine build still had the leanness of adolescence, but muscles rippled underneath her fur like ocean swells. Aumna smiled blearily and held out her cobalt blades to the side.

Rev'n had stopped without thinking, but started moving again, shouldering through the unmoving bodies around him. In his arms, Avrial mewled softly; a damp, heavy weight that made his elbow ache. He glanced at her pudgy face, ringed with a white-blonde curls, and then away. Aumna leapt forward, blades sparking red in a downward arc. Haladra jerked away, as fast and fluidic as a snake, and snarled mockingly. The worgen took a swipe at Aumna's head, who ducked, but not quickly enough. The screech of claws across her cobalt helm echoed in the square.

Aumna stumbled to the side, but Haladra grasped the slicers and began to push them apart. The death knight's shoulders bulged with exertion and she leaned forward to avoid being forced to her knees. Haladra's grinning snout inched closer to her throat.

Inevitable.

No one else moved. Blue and yellow eyes shone in the darkness, transfixed by the spectacle. Rev'n cursed to himself and tested the weight of his dagger. The weapon was finely crafted, but unsuited to throwing. He calculated the distance in his head and hurled it at Haladra's back. The dagger flashed silver as it rebounded off of her shoulder blade. She yelped in surprise and looked over her shoulder. One baleful red eye memorized his face.

Aumna yielded to one side, throwing the worgen off balance. She ducked under another decapitating swipe and drew her right sword across Haladra's gut. An unearthly howl made spectators draw back. Rev'n clutched Avrial to his ribs and instinctively ducked as someone hurtled past him.

Maggotsmasher leapt onto Haladra's shoulder and clawed and bit with a savagery Rev'n had never seen before. The worgen thrashed wildly, snarling and snapping at the ghoul. One of Haladra's blind strikes caught Aumna on the back. She collapsed onto her hands and knees with a groan. Haladra reached over her shoulder, ripped Maggotsmasher from his perch, and hurled him into the air. He crashed through the inn's dusty window and landed somewhere inside. She turned slowly, fur slick, eyes bright with rage. Rev'n reached across his chest and unsheathed his other dagger, and held its tip against Avrial's throat.

Haladra froze in mid-step, whiskers shivering. He met her gaze and thrust the baby between them like a shield. Aumna cradled her head, hands shaking with the first signs of sunbane withdrawal, and then slumped to the ground.

"Yield, Haladra Swaywheat." Kiyarl emerged from the mob of faceless silhouettes and stood by Rev'n. "Or forfeit your daughter's life."

Haladra hunched forward, head dipped to their level. Her growl reverberated through the square, but she remained where she stood. Rev'n met her stare, dagger hovering over Avrial's sleepy expression. They remained that way until the first hints of dawn bleached the horizon.

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R&R is always appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning**: Drug use. Plot. Aumna being an idiot. (What's new?)

I've edited and posted this at quarter to 3 in the morning. If there are any inconsistancies/typos/etc. lemme know where they are. I'll fix them eventually.

Also, thanks to Calamitynexus. Her special brand of awesomesauce helps make these characters who they are.

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Chapter 4

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Aumna woke up to an awful gurgling sound. Screaming. Rev'n's face came into focus, possessed by such emotion he was nearly unrecognizable. He lifted his hand in front of a nearby torch; his thin fingers looked like branches crisscrossing the moon.

_I curse the day your mother birthed you_. He stood up and walked away. The crowd parted for him without a word, a sea of unblinking, uncomprehending eyes. Aumna sat up, rolling her back and shoulders. Her head throbbed for sunbane. A faint silver thread lined the eastern horizon. The square began to empty except for several drudges who had resumed their tasks.

"You are well?" Kiyarl asked. The faint spark of dawn glowed through her white robes. At Aumna's nod she bowed her head. "Then I must attend to Haladra and Avrial."

"You're going to help her?" Aumna stood up slowly. "She's cursed."

Kiyarl smiled faintly. "And we are not?"

"You know what I mean." She eyed the brightening sea. "I don't have the resources to deal with a worgen every night and Mograine hasn't the patience. She's cursed and she's one of the living. Surely someone at Light's Hope Chapel can deal with her."

"You know that is untrue. Light's Hope Chapel is a place of battle, not of curse breaking. She would be shunned, or kill and then be killed. Her fate will be the same where ever she goes. We are the undead. Who are we to turn her away?"

"And the same thing won't happen here?"

"It did not come to pass last night."

Aumna fumbled for a roll of sunbane. She walked towards one of the torches, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Muvad emerged from the shadows with Hoss leaning on him and whispered urgently to Kiyarl. He caught Aumna's eye and glared accusingly at her. She took another drag and watched them retreat towards the church. After finishing her cigarette, she crushed the ashes beneath her heel and sauntered down to the beach. The sliver of light looked brighter; a rusty glow that coloured the sea amber. She walked down the shore until the large, sheered cliffs of Quel'Thalas appeared in the distance, then sat down in the sand and wondered how to face Mograine.

"Anger suits you, Lady Valir."

Aumna stiffened and glanced over. "Faeden Gravewhisper," she rasped snidely, "the betrayer of all masters."

Faeden laughed seductively and bowed. The dark cowl that marked him as a necromancer stirred in the rising breeze. "I leave such titles to greater beings." After a protracted pause, he spoke again. "I hear you're having difficulties."

"I'm not in the mood for your plotting." Aumna scowled, throat itching from sunbane. "Go away."

Faeden smiled beneath his mask and said, "I'm not here to lay yet another burden on your shoulders." He withdrew a small bag that reeked of seaweed and set it at her feet. "I live here, too. Your problems are mine."

Aumna's eyes were riveted on the bag. She shook her head. "Well, what is it?"

"I know you've pulled a living girl ashore. She's cursed, cast out by her people, yes?" When he received no reply, he bent down directly in front of Aumna. "She is a worgen. A creature of very dark, very powerful magic." His eyes warmed, as if speaking to a lover. "She's still young and fond of her babe. When that maternal instinct loses its potency, you will have to slay her anyway." He picked up the bag of unrefined sunbane. "Sir Valir…I know you only want to do the right thing, but you're bound by Mograine's will." He placed the bag in her hands. "The only way to solve this problem is to keep this girl and make her troubles our own. It's only right. And who else can be trusted with this task?"

"Don't even try it. I'm not a paladin anymore."

Faeden looked repentant. "None of us are what we once were, but this girl may prove to be our salvation." He pulled down his mask to reveal a handsome, clean-shaven face. "Arugal was once a member of the Kirin Tor. If he can transform humans into worgen…then who knows what other secrets his legacy might reveal to us?"

"You would have me use her. Study her."

"And care for her," he murmured. "She's lost her way, just as we did when we bowed to the will of Arthas."

She closed her eyes. "I don't trust you."

"I'm not asking you to trust me." Faeden stood up. "I'm asking you to do the right thing."

"I always do," she snapped.

Faeden stared at her for a moment, then bowed and walked towards the town. Aumna watched him go, lips twisted into a snarl. Her eyes landed on the bag of sunbane. After a long pause, she reached for it. A drudge had set up work near Death's Breach and hadn't extinguished its torch. She went and lit her drag, and returned to her spot on the sand. How much time passed after that, she didn't know. Her bones felt warm and the earth beneath her was solid and welcoming, and….

"Aumna?"

She jerked awake. "Whuh…what?"

Kiyarl paused, brows drawn together. "The human is awake."

"The human?" Aumna sat up and flicked the ashes off of her thighs. "Ah, yes. The cursed girl." She stood up, eyes glowing from underneath her helmet. "Let's be off, then."

Kiyarl stiffened at her tone, but didn't object on the walk back. The main square had been cleaned and the only evidence of conflict was Maggotsmasher standing over his master with an air of anticipation. She paused at the sight. Kiyarl's pace didn't alter.

"Haladra had ambushed him on the path down to the square." She failed to hide the contempt in her tone. "His wounds have been seen to."

The church itself continued to rise from the ashes. Its white walls looked orange in the early morning light. They descended the stairs. The stench of raw bile sat heavily in the undercroft. Aumna wrinkled her nose and squinted in the dimness.

Hoss and Muvad stood in one corner. Haladra and her child stood in the other. A single candle flickered on the table between them, silently devouring its wick.

"Either of you still injured?" Aumna stared at Muvad.

"No," Hoss replied reluctantly. "We're not."

"Then get out."

A stunned silence flooded the room. They stared at Aumna, but her expression remained cold. She waited until the clunk of their plate armour had faded away and turned her gaze to Haladra. She held Avrial to her breast, face pale and thin.

"Human," she began in a low tone, "I want you to understand the seriousness of your situation."

"I do! I—"

"_Understand_ that I don't suffer the living." She circled around the table and leaned against it. "And that you're a long way from Stormwind."

Haladra looked down and nervously rocked Avrial in her arms. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I thought I would die without water and that you would either kill me or send me away, and then I could feel it coming and it was dusk already—"

"Who are you? Where do you come from?"

"My name is Haladra Swaywheat," she whispered. "I…I used to live in Pyrewood Village."

"A peasant's name." Aumna smiled coolly. "The Scarlet Crusade used to command these shores. They know the currents, the land. You were cast at our feet to destroy us."

"No." Haladra swayed, grey-faced, and grasped the table's edge. "No no no. I only wanted to be cured." She gazed at Avrial's content face. "I can't live amongst others with this curse. Better dead than a worgen." Her eyes flicked up to meet Aumna's. "The priests didn't say so, but it was in their faces."

Kiyarl frowned. "Aumna, you said you slew Arugal. Perhaps you have insight that others lack?"

"Aumna _Valir_?" Haladra blurted.

Aumna straightened slowly, eyes reduced to blue slivers beneath her helmet. "Worgen or not, you're one of the living. Yesterday, you attacked two knights of the Ebon Blade." She turned and headed outside. "Your fate now rests with Highlord Mograine."

Kiyarl grabbed Aumna's arm and whispered, "You know what fate awaits her."

"Yes." She smiled coldly. "Do you wish to share it?"

Kiyarl drew herself up to her full height, but stood aside. "Act with care," she hissed, hood hanging over her eyes. "The Scourge destroys our minds, our bodies, but not our souls. That is still ours to ruin."

"Feh. See to it that the human doesn't cause any more harm." Aumna ascended the steps and paused to take in the scene. Hazy light spread across the sky. The ruins of New Avalon sat below, bustling with activity.

Aumna wasted no time. She opened the Death Gate on the second incantation and leapt through. Her boots echoed sharply on the stone floor. Several death knights turned and stared, but remained silent. She walked into the teleportation circle and found herself on the bottom level. Highlord Mograine stood in the middle of the room, head turned in conversation with another undead.

She approached slowly and ignored the discussion. Mograine suddenly regarded Aumna without expression. He waved Squire Edwards away with flick of his hand.

"I expected you sooner," he rasped impatiently. "What of the girl and her child?"

"I believe she was sent here as a weapon. She bears the curse of Arugal. The Scarlet Crusade abandoned her knowing she would run aground on our shores. Last night she changed and killed many of our workers. She also attacked Mezian and myself." Aumna paused when Mograine leaned forward. "She's extremely dangerous. Had we not held her child hostage, we might have all been killed."

"Oh? You know this for certain?" A dangerous tension settled around his shoulders. After a moment, he asked, "Is the child infected?"

"Uh…no, Highlord."

"Then execute the human, but spare her young one."

Aumna bowed low. "Yes, Hi—"

"Highlord!"

Mograine's head snapped up. "You dare interrupt me, death knight?"

"I apologize, but you must come see." The slender draenei gestured sharply, horns curled like sickles. "There is trouble."

"Show me," he commanded, and the death knights idling in the main room suddenly bristled in sympathy. Mograine moved towards the balcony, his power curdling the air and leaving agitated undead in his wake. Aumna mutely followed, head bowed. She slipped between an orc and a dwarf and looked into the distance. A black smear billowed over the mountains in the southwest.

"What is it?"

"War," growled the orc, "and treachery."

"Aye." The dwarf turned and looked at Aumna with bright eyes. "That's Tyr's Hand, lass. Someone's put it to the torch."

* * *

There. Now I'm going to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning**: Mild violence, no gore. It's on par with in-game content. A few small hints of PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder) and all that jazz.

Thanks to Calamitynexus for giving this a once over.

Sorry for the slow update! Life has been a little crazy and I caught a bug a few days ago. Here's hoping it clears up soon. Anyway, enjoy the story!

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

A high-pitched scream joined the rumble of the tide. Muvad jerked his head up to the see a herd of unsaddled deathchargers galloping across the open beach. Their bright blue hooves cut through the water like oars. They caught sight of him and swung as a single entity, eyes as hot as the heart of a flame. He finished dropping separate piles of scourged grass and grubs, and hastily drew back.

The largest deathcharger tossed its head at him, flicked its ears back at the others, and tore into the first pile. Other horses cautiously nibbled at the other food heaps, but only had a few moments before they were chased away.

Hoss sat on the rocky bank that overlooked the sea. "Aumna needs to ride that one," he muttered. "He's turning feral."

Muvad wearily raised his brows. "I don't understand why another death knight doesn't take him for a few laps around the town. He's a beautiful animal."

"They're all possessive about their horses. Each chose one from the shadows, or so they say." Hoss shifted so Muvad could sit down. The deathchargers squealed and bucked and circled. "I'm surprised any of 'em allowed their mounts to run free. Just toss 'em back into the shadows until they need a lift." He laughed harshly. "At least Lordaeron's blood-sucking nobility will never die."

"Hoss."

"Oh. Sorry." Hoss rubbed his chin. "Except for you, of course."

"Bones below, you're almost as bad as Aumna."

"I'm not that bad," he retorted. After a comfortable pause he removed his helmet and started cleaning it. "You've heard the rumours?"

"Aumna's a common name."

"No it isn't." Hoss snorted. "I always wondered about all those stories, but she's so…so…" he gestured to New Avalon, "bloody stupid."

"Leave it be." Muvad hunched over, elbows propped on his knees. "I don't feel like reminiscing today."

"Getting tired of my inexhaustible litany of military victories?" Hoss asked in perfect mockery of Muvad's well-bred Stratholme accent.

Muvad rolled his eyes, then did a double take. "Look."

"What?"

"Is that smoke?"

Hoss scowled and put on his helm. "It's too high to be from our lands." He stood up and followed the dark smudge. "From the south," he muttered.

"Light's Hope Chapel?"

"I don't think so."

Muvad pushed himself off the rock. He stared at the deathchargers, who stood still, ears up, heads turned. He walked towards the sea until the embankment didn't obscure his view. Rust-coloured mist clung to the coastline, but shapes moved in the distance. Several flashed silver.

Hoss instinctively came to stand by his right side. "Our armour doesn't catch the sun like that." He squinted. "Are those horses?"

"Yes," Muvad replied. "Give me your goggles." He scowled at Hoss's blank look. "Those mad looking ones you're always fiddling with."

"They're not mad looking." Hoss rummaged in his pocket and held up the goggles. "It took me ages to make them. Be careful."

"I will." Muvad held the tinted lenses against his eyes. Information scrolled down the left side of his vision, leaving the center occupied by cross-hairs. He adjusted the zoom and felt a moment's dizziness when the obscure figures suddenly tripled in size.

"What do you see?"

Several horsemen wheeled gracefully along the beach, arms and blades flashing in downward arcs. Their red, winged helms were barely visible. Beneath them, smaller figures thrashed like fish caught in a net. Muvad adjusted the zoom to its max. A grey-haired woman raised a pitchfork that was immediately sliced in half. Her face was wrenched in anguish. A pink, human, living face.

"It's the Scarlet Crusade." Muvad lowered the goggles. "They're attacking civilians."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Take a look for yourself." Muvad handed the goggles back to Hoss.

"Bones below," Hoss muttered, "they're corralling them."

Muvad started walking. "Go find Aumna. I'm going to get a closer look."

"That's just about as likely as me bedding a high elf." Hoss tucked the goggles back into his pocket. "You're going to do some stupid and heroic, and I'll never hear the end of your bragging if I'm not with you." He grinned darkly. "Hopefully our luck will be better than at Andorhal, hey?"

Muvad laughed wearily. "Stubborn, low-born fool."

"Yes I am. Now, we must act." He drew his sword and shield. "Let's grab those little farmers and see what they can tell us."

"Technically, I'm still your captain." Muvad unsheathed his two-handed sword and loped up the embankment. "I could have you hanged."

"Five strips of sunbane says Aumna would let me off with a warning." Hoss crouched and followed. They ran hunched over across the rising slope. After a few moments, the familiar shriek and clang of battle became audible. Muvad held his hand up in a fist and sat on the embankment's edge, which had risen to the height of two men. Voices mingled in the breeze, some high and sharp, others low and faint. Nine people remained standing, four of whom bore the Scarlet Crusade's colours. Hoss quietly loaded his crossbow and took aim.

"No." Muvad whispered. "This calls for a more dramatic entrance."

Hoss spared him an irritated look. "Like _what_? I—" His face brightened and he put his bow away. "I know."

"Hurry."

The nearest Scarlet paladin steered his horse towards the old woman. She cried out and raised her arms. Hoss shot to his feet and shouted, "_Stop, in the name of the King!_" and hurled a stick of dynamite into the air. It exploded with a deafening flash. Sand and mist swirled in the air, and everyone jerked into motion.

The nearest horse reared back with a squeal, and tossed the cavalryman—a paladin—onto the ground. He grunted and laid still, eyes blanking. The other horses jumped and side-stepped, but didn't bolt. Hoss leapt down from the embankment, sword and shield glowing bronze in the sunlight, and charged into the confusion. Muvad cursed and followed.

The paladin collected himself in time to parry Hoss's blade while his horse wheeled away. The Holy power flared around him in a scorching aura.

"Leave this one to me," Hoss crowed, sword swinging.

Muvad ducked beneath an exorcism spell and moved on to the next Scarlet Crusader; a woman whose spear scored a mark across a boy's narrow shoulders. The youth fell—

—_to their knees as the hills beyond grew dark with a groaning, stumbling army. The men at his back cried out—_

"Mercy!" The boy raised his hands in supplication.

Muvad leapt over him and hooked the Crusader's polearm on his own hilt, and used his weight to wrench it out of her grip. She bent towards him, overbalanced, and offered a view of her neck. He didn't have enough momentum to strike, but he smashed her nose with his pommel as she sat up. He slapped her horse's rump and it gave a kick before galloping towards the beach. She eventually fell into the surf, limbs flailing like a doll.

A high-pitched whinny warned Muvad. He spun around as the cavalryman ran toward him, scattering the survivors like startled birds. He caught a glimpse of Hoss, who vanished beneath the bulk of a second Crusader, his sword falling with a silver flash. The mounted man swung his mace in a whistling sweep and Muvad ducked, but the aim remained true and slammed into his shoulder. He grunted and twisted to avoid falling to the ground. The Crusader rode past and swung around to charge. Muvad glanced over his shoulder. The surviving humans had plastered themselves to the embankment, faces dirty, eyes wide and white. Hoss had regained his blade and fought two together, putting his back to the water. He met Muvad's eye, then slammed his shield into the face of one man and dodged the other's thrust. One of them groaned in frustration as—

—_Undead lumbered around them and they, like a silver piece dropped in the mud, glinted helplessly in the middle. _

_Light above, he was so __**damn**__ scared for them. _

Muvad watched helplessly as his own opponent gallop closer. Dizziness pounced on him again, as if he still wore Hoss's goggles. The Crusader carried a relentless, mechanical strength that had broken the gates of many fine towns. Muvad lowered his sword and dug his heels in. When the horse came within two strides of him, he flung out his arms and shouted. It started and veered away, as all horses did until they were trained not to.

He swung as the horse raced past. His sword caught the man beneath his shoulder blade and skidded off his cuirass. The Crusader cried out and lurched forward onto his horse's neck. Muvad raced towards Hoss and used his momentum to barrel over the paladin that had been casting a spell. The brush of Holy magic scorched his neck and cheek, but he ignored it. The man tumbled to the sand and instinctively raised his hand to ward away an attack.

"Please, no—don't…."

_"Don't! Just kill me!" _

_Hoarse, metallic laughter._

Muvad raised his sword for a quick, killing thrust to the throat.

"Stay your blades, all of you!"

Everyone paused, startled. Muvad tore his eyes away from his quarry to see a man on the embankment. His closely cropped hair and unsmiling features spoke of experience despite his youthful appearance. He wore the golden, iridescent armour of a southern paladin, and at his side stood two others dressed in the Argent Crusade uniform. A female orc and draenei.

"My name is Rolandus Whitemace of Stormwind." His voice was loud, but roughened by pain. "Sheathe your weapons and state your allegiance."

Hoss laughed and collapsed on the ground. "Ebon Blade," he said wearily, and started laughing again.

Muvad stared at the man sprawled prone at his feet. After a tense pause, he lowered his sword and placed himself between Hoss and the two Crusaders. "I'm also with the Ebon Blade." He sheathed his weapon. "Since when does Stormwind intervene in the troubles of the undead?"

"Hold your tongue, Lightless heathen!" The only Crusader who hadn't been unhorsed rolled his shoulder and spat on the ground.

Rolandus slowly made his way down the embankment. He moved deliberately, but gracefully. His escort trailed behind at a respectful distance.

"Calm yourself," he said to the Crusader, then turned to Muvad with grim, glowing eyes. "When Stormwind chooses to war with them, of course."

Hoss stopped laughing.

* * *

Please review! I know you've been here! The internet tells me so. Don't make me sick Wayne Brady on you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning**: implied violence, death, and a swearing. Also plot. FEAR IT.

Hey everyone. Here's another chapter up for you to enjoy. It involves a few references from Warcraft III lore, so if you're unfamiliar with that game you might want to check out WowWiki for references.

It took a few tries to write this chapter. I watched all three Bourne movies for inspiration, lol, so I hope you enjoy the read.

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

Rev'n surfaced with a loud splash. A strong, cold wind skimmed across the Forbidding Sea and buffeted his exposed head. He touched his hair self-consciously and swam back to shore. It was difficult swimming with so much seaweed in tow, but he managed to drag himself onto land without incident. He slung the long, slick strands up over a make-shift drying rack and sat on the ground with a petulant grunt.

The toxic yellow seaweed would take days to dry and several more to produce sunbane. Rev'n shook his head and lay back in the sand, hands folded underneath his skull. The sky shone an ugly burnt-orange colour that pressed down on him like ceiling of a cave. When the wind had dried his skin, he slid back into the old leather armour he had perished in, and glanced up in time to see an approaching figure.

Priestess Kiyarl.

"Rev'n," she whispered, white robes fluttering in the wind. "I…." Her eyes darted from his face to the sunbane. "I have a favour to ask of you."

Rev'n raised a brow.

"I know I have no right to ask." Kiyarl demurely clasped her hands together. "But Aumna has returned. She and her fellow knights have imprisoned Haladra in the old Scarlet Hold and…she is acting strangely." At Rev'n's impatient look, she glanced away. "I am asking you to stop harvesting sunbane."

He clapped his hands to regain eye contact and glared.

"Something is wrong, something in the Ebon Blade is changing," Kiyarl rasped, "and Aumna is the only one who will intervene on our behalf." She glanced back at the distant towers of New Avalon. "Please. As…as your priestess and Aumna's friend, I ask you to stop."

Rev'n walked to the moist sand near the water's edge and wrote _betrayal_ in sloppy letters. Kiyarl took a moment to translate the Thalassian in her mind, and then shook her head.

"Aumna is also dear to my heart, but despair makes her irresponsible and reckless." She bowed her head. "I am worried."

He brushed past her with a long, measuring look and headed back towards the town. Kiyarl followed quietly and made no more overtures for his assistance. He crested the lip of the embankment and caught movement near the rocky outcroppings that bordered the southern entrance of New Avalon. The dark armour of death knights was clearly visible. He paused in mid-step. Something about the crowd's movements made him break into a run.

Hoss trembled on his hands and knees, head bowed in grief. Around him stood an old woman and a middle-aged man, both of whom looked torn between awe and terror, and a ring of inquisitive undead. Most were ghouls and none appeared overly concerned by the presence of the living. Several death knights looked on with disdain and waited for a reaction.

Rev'n pushed through the spectators and stood in front of Hoss. The guilty look he received made his eyes narrow into murderous slits. Kiyarl emerged behind him, mouth gaping.

"I'm sorry," Hoss choked out, "it all happened so fast…. I couldn't even think to stop her." His eyes darted to the humans beside him. "And we needed them. As proof." His body trembled with weakness. "That stupid girl. She charged after Muvad like she had a whole damned army at her back." He bowed his head, as if the memories were too heavy to bear. "I'm sorry, Rev'n."

"Who?" Kiyarl bent down and began muttering spells. "Where?"

Hoss shut his eyes when golden light enveloped him. "The Scarlet Crusade took them away. And another man helped them. A paladin of the Silver Hand. A powerful one. I don't know where."

"So," a metallic voice cut through the silence, "Stormwind has moved against you." Mezian stroked his beard with a thoughtful expression.

"No." The elderly woman began to weep. "This isn't happening. It's not possible." She leaned towards the other human for comfort, but he stood stiff and pale-faced and had no comfort to offer.

Rev'n gurgled loudly and everyone's eyes briefly skated across his face. He ignored them and pointed to the Acherus.

"Oh, I'm afraid not." Mezian smiled coldly. "The Highlord's first priority is survival. If one death knight needs to be sacrificed so that others may live, then he will sacrifice one death knight. Especially a weak, incompetent one."

Kiyarl clasped Rev'n's shoulder before he leapt forward. "Your words are poorly chosen."

He merely sneered at her and turned away. Maggotsmasher followed with a sullen grumble. The other death knights followed and the rasp of a Death Gate drew the tense air even thinner. Rev'n waited until they had left before unsheathing a dagger and hurling it at the ground. The humans jumped back, startled.

"You will not come to harm among us." Kiyarl walked up to them, hands tucked into her sleeves. "But it is not safe in the open. Not all of the undead here follow our ways, as you have just seen." She nodded at the path leading into New Avalon. "I can make accommodations for you. There is another human already staying with us. I can give you clean food, water, and bedding."

"In exchange for what?" The man dragged himself out of his stupor. "Are you gonna turn us into one of you?"

Kiyarl pressed her lips together. "No," she replied, "but you have information we do not."

Rev'n shook his head, eyes unseeing.

"Acting blindly will not help Aumna or Muvad." Kiyarl walked towards New Avalon. "Follow me. We have much to discuss."

Rev'n closed his eyes for a moment, then yanked his dagger out of the ground and followed. Hoss gestured for the humans to walk ahead of him and they did so with obvious reluctance. New Avalon bustled with varying types of undead, some of whom showed absolutely no interest in them and others who stopped and stared. The humans whispered frantically to each other, but Rev'n hadn't the patience to eavesdrop.

The Scarlet Hold was the only building to remain largely intact since New Avalon's fall. Its jagged white walls towered above all else. Kiyarl led them to the basement, which had been refitted with an old Scourge holding cell chained to the ground. Haladra sat on the bedding inside nursing Avrial.

"Have you any news?" Haladra covered herself, but her eyes raked Kiyarl's face frantically. "Am I…am I going to die?"

"Ahh, girlie." Hoss rubbed his face and sat on one of the old torture tables.

"Not if I can be of any use. We may be in luck, however, as your presence has been overshadowed by another matter." Kiyarl stepped aside to reveal the other humans. "These are survivors from Tyr's Hand."

"Oh." She swallowed hard and settled back down on her bed. Avrial made a fussy noise, but didn't quit nursing. "Hello," she whispered.

"I heard about you in…back then. You're that one with the curse, aren't you?" The dark-haired man hesitated a moment, then looked at her baby. "What's her name?"

"Avrial, after my mother."

After an awkward pause, the two sat beside her. "My name is Essil and this," he gestured to the elderly woman, "is Selna."

Rev'n threw Kiyarl a dark look, but the night elf didn't interrupt. She grasped a pitcher and three cups from the far corner, poured water into each of them, cast a cleansing spell over them, and then offered them to each of the living. She waited until they had drunk their fill before she spoke.

"My name is Kiyarl Duskrunner, and this is Rev'n Dawnshadow and Hoss Blackhammer." Kiyarl stood by the stairs, hands clasped together. "We are undead who have taken refuge under the Ebon Blade." She drew back her hood and revealed long pale green braids. "We need your help," she whispered. "Two of our own have been taken. What is happening to the Scarlet Crusade? Who burned Tyr's Hand?"

"They did," Essil muttered.

Hoss's head jerked up. "What?"

"The Scarlet Crusade burned down Tyr's Hand. My home. My _family_." Essil looked at his hands, lips trembling. "I was out looking for herbs." He gestured to Selna, whose expression had gone blank. "And she had been scroungin' for extra food. When I returned, the entire town was ablaze." His eyes darted up to fix on Kiyarl. They were green and full of rage. "And there they were. Archbishop Ganelon and his lot just _stood there_ on the hillside while everythin' burned." He lowered his head, shoulders trembling. "People were screamin', but no one was running out. No one was escapin'. They must have been trapped somewhere. Locked in their ho…." He abruptly went silent, tears slipping down his face like drops of water over the lip of an overflowing glass.

Selna gently touched Essil's arm. "We were herded together," she croaked in a soft, detached tone. "Those of us who weren't inside were chased to the beach."

Kiyarl made a sign to ward away evil. "Why?"

"Do they need a reason?" Essil scrubbed his cheeks.

"What of the other survivors?"

"What others?" He grimaced and shut his eyes. "The five of us were the only ones left. Now there's just the two of us. Those red bastards will kill 'em."

"But…how could Stormwind be involved in this? With the Argent Crusade, no less?" Hoss shook his head. "I saw their uniforms. If Stormwind and the Argent Crusade are helping them…then where does that leave us? Mograine will cut a deal to save the Ebon Blade." He laughed bitterly. "We're just pests on his doorstep."

Rev'n shook his head. At the curious silence, he turned and traced letters in the dust that clung to the wall. Kiyarl squinted.

"He says we are missing something." She looked worried. "What?"

He wrote more, fingers scraping against the old wooden panels.

Kiyarl frowned. "I fought with the Alliance before Lordaeron fell. The…" she leaned forward, "the Silver Hand is political, but not fanatical. They have refused to kill innocent people in the past. In Stratholme. The Scarlet Crusade is unpopular."

Rev'n ran out of space. He gurgled and clenched his fists.

"I have no parchment or quills," Kiyarl admitted. "The Ebon Blade took everything that I didn't need to practice my arts."

"I…think I understand." All eyes turned to Haladra. She flushed nervously, but continued. "My father sometimes spoke of the war between the Frosaken and the Scarlet Crusade. They both resorted to dishonourable methods to kill each other. Traps. Using prisoners as bait." She met Rev'n's intense gaze. "He said that they were evenly matched and couldn't win by themselves, but no one else wanted to get involved. It was a dirty war."

"So they set a snare," Kiyarl whispered wearily. "If Stormwind and the Argent Crusade believe we are responsible for the razing of Tyr's Hand, then the Scarlet Crusade will have the means to destroy us."

"_Bones below_." Hoss went rigid. "We played right into their hands." He gave the priestess an apologetic look. "Muvad and I were caught fighting the Crusaders when Whitemace arrived with his guards. We…said we were from the Ebon Blade. I didn't even think about it."

"Then we are not just rogue undead and betrayers of the Alliance, but baggage to the Ebon Blade." Kiyarl closed her eyes, shoulders slumped. "I do not understand. Tyr's Hand is a pocket of human civilization that has withstood the Scourge since the beginning. It is the Scarlet's Crusade's greatest achievement."

"Aye," Essil piped up, "but since with the fall of the Scarlet Enclave we were put on rations." He had recovered some composure and spoke in slow, measured tones. "The city's been starvin' for a while now. Runnin' out of food and clean water…."

Hoss rubbed his face again. "So, even if we found out where Muvad and Aumna are being held, we might not be able to do anything about it." He released a long, battered sigh. "Light's Hope Chapel? Stratholme? Stormwind itself?"

"If they are still alive," Kiyarl added softly.

He managed to nod, eyes shut.

Rev'n's eyes widened. He pulled down his mask with a grimace and began mouthing words. Kiyarl watched him carefully, lips chiselled into a grim line.

"Surely," she said, "you cannot be serious."

* * *

As always, R&R is appreciated.

Note: **I'm going to up the rating of this story to M **next chapter for more freedom and because the themes will be a bit too dark for T (in my opinion, anyway.) Just be aware that content is going to escalate.


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning**:This story is now rated M! It has a few bits of torture (mental & physical), humiliation, rape (of a sort), swearing, implied drug use, and sexual references. If you're into psychological stuff this can be a bit intense.

Yay! I have internets! I've had this chapter written for a while, but after hours of endless nitpicking, I think this covers all the themes I wanted it to pretty well. A huge thanks to Calamity for giving this a once over.

But wait! There's more!

It might sound a bit pretentious, but I slapped together a soundtrack of sorts. It seemed like a neat idea anyway. Some of the songs directly relate to a character and others to the story themes. Those that have a * contain swearing.

Disclaimer: All these songs belong to their respective artists & labels. I make no money off of this. These are posted for purely fan-based purposes and aren't intended to infringe copyrights of any sort.

Ballad for Dead Friends by Dashboard Prophets (Muvad)

*Working Class Hero by John Lennon (Hoss)

*Creep by Radiohead (Rev'n)

White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane (Aumna)

Understanding by Evanescence (Haladra)

Grace by Kate Havnevik (Kiyarl)

Handlebars by Flobot (Faeden)

Big Hard Sun by Indio (Rolandus)

Nebelpfade by E Nomine

Progenies of the Great Apocalypse by Dimmu Borgir

The Beginning is the End is the Beginning by The Smashing Pumpkins

Hello Zepp by Charlie Clouser

Pruit Igoe & Prophecies by The Philip Glass Ensemble

*Take a Bow by Muse

Anyway, enjoy yourself!

* * *

Aumna woke up in the arms of a huge, bare-chested man. She flailed wildly, but his arms clamped around her body like the jaws of a great thrasher. Her head fit neatly into the hollow beneath his neck. She felt an absurd rush of embarrassment at their proximity and tried to wriggle out of his grip, but her limbs were heavy and weak. The itch at the back of her throat was maddening.

"Well," she sighed and went limp, "damn it."

He laughed and his foul breath washed over Aumna's face. "Patience, corpseling," he rumbled, and continued walking. She craned her neck to get a better look at where they were going, but only caught dizzying glimpses of candelabras and crimson banners.

"Hey," she rasped, "this seems like the sort of place where taboos run rampant." Aumna smiled, teeth smeared with blood. "How about…I give your saddlebags a rub and you let me go. Have we a deal?"

"No."

"Too bad." She managed to laugh. "Not into mares, is it?"

He stopped and heaved her over his shoulder. The stone floor veered sickeningly with each step and she let out a long, low groan before lapsing into silence. She became vaguely aware of a change in pace. The man carried her up several stairs into halls that echoed with soft footsteps and whispers. A door groaned as it opened.

There was a sudden impression of space. Aumna raised her head in time to catch Rolandus's gaze. He stood up, arms casually folded in front of his stomach. His eyes shone with inner power, but communicated no emotion.

"Ahh, Herod."

Herod grunted and descended a short set of stairs, and propped Aumna against the wall facing the other occupants in the room. She grinned at him as he turned away, stiff-backed. Bishop Ganelon stood in the middle of the room with his head bowed in deference to a woman perched on the opposite stairs. Her gaze swept over him and rested on Rolandus and his companions.

"Bishop," she said softly, "what is the meaning of this?"

Ganelon froze like a frightened rabbit. "High Inquisitor…this is the death knight who led the burning of Tyr's Hand." He gestured to Aumna, then to Rolandus. "I have gathered everyone here to witness the confession."

"_Strangers_ in our sanctuary?" Whitemane asked and laid her staff across her lap.

Rolandus looked uncomfortable. The orc and draenei who accompanied him shifted with an uneasiness made more pronounced by their lack of weaponry. "We are one in the Light, High Inquisitor." He took a seat and gestured for his guards to do the same. "Though we haven't met in the flesh, we are all children of the same faith."

The emphasis he laid on his last words made Whitemane's lips twitch. She dipped her chin in acknowledgement and looked to Ganelon. "Continue."

"Thank you." He bowed, then turned to Aumna. "Your name was once Aumna Valir."

"It still is," she rasped wryly.

Ganelon spared her an irritated look, but continued speaking with his hands clasped behind his back. "You were a knight of the Silver Hand, were you not?"

Aumna drunkenly leaned forward, eyes dimming. "I…yes!" She jerked upright with a startled gasp. "I was."

"Do you still consider yourself good?" He stilled, a small, vicious smile on his lips.

She blinked slowly. "What? What? I don't…" her eyelids threatened to fall shut, "why would you even ask that?"

"Do you?"

"I suppose. It doesn't matter."

Ganelon nodded and paced the floor like a restless gladiator. "Can you explain your defection to the Scourge?" He raised his hand against her immediate retort. "We know you, Aumna Valir. You offered yourself to the Scourge as a free, living being. Can you explain that, if you are still good, why did you abandon our codes to march as a death knight? Why did you condemn the people you swore to protect to burn alive? What did Mograine hope to achieve by such an attack?"

A tense, quiet pause filled the room.

"It wasn't the Ebon Blade. I acted alone." She snarled at him like a dying tiger. "Besides, I wasn't good, then."

"The Light answered your call."

"That's hardly a reasonable measure of good these days, is it?" Aumna laughed, head bent. "I was mad, too."

Ganelon threw Whitemane a fearful glance. "Mad?"

"You people…" her eyes swept the entire room, "you just expect everything to be done right; that somehow one person can just do it all if they believe strongly enough or if they work hard enough. If someone succumbs it's because they didn't try, not because the enemy was so damn overwhelming. You don't give anything back." She met Ganelon's gaze. "At least undeath makes us half-way honest."

"You dare speak such things here?" The bishop demanded, brows drawn into a scowl.

"It's the truth," she replied acidly. "That's what you're looking for, isn't it?" Ganelon flushed angrily, but didn't take the bait.

"What do you mean?" Rolandus's deep, hypnotic voice cleaved through the rising tension. "You were prodigious. Magnificent."

Aumna stared at the floor. "And chained," she said flatly.

He frowned when she didn't elaborate. "To what?"

"To stupid old men and their impossible dreams." She snapped weakly and sank against the wall, shaking her head. "One paladin can't resurrect a kingdom." Her gaze turned inward. "The Light isn't enough."

There was another pause. Rolandus rested his chin on his hands, expression thoughtful.

"And in your despair you sought out the Lich King and pledged yourself to his service." Ganelon's voice brimmed with contempt. "The Hope is extinguished." He folded his hands together. "And it is the same lack of faith that drove you to attack our beloved city."

"Don't call me that." She managed to square her shoulders. "I burnt down the whole infernal town. There." Her eyes latched onto Rolandus's face. "The truth is out."

Rolandus's eyes flicked down to her hands, which had curled into fists, then returned to her face. His eyes flashed with understanding.

Ganelon snorted. "You admit it so freely?" He shook his head. "Very well, then."

Whitemane leaned back against the next stair. "What offence did the people of Tyr's Hand give you?"

"Proximity."

"And yet you tell us that you are good?" She inclined her head. "You dangle secrets in front of the Alliance while shoving a knife in their backs?"

Aumna's face went still and mask-like. "I do what makes sense for the people under my command. My purpose is to ensure their survival at any cost." She lifted her head and met Whitemane's eyes. "I just don't hide it behind matching shirts."

Ganelon inhaled sharply. "How dare you address the High Inquisitor in such a manner."

Whitemane merely nodded. "I see," she said and stood up. Her staff slammed against the stone floor with a resounding _clack_. "By your own words, you've admitted to being a traitor to your people and your order. The matter at hand is very simple. You will be executed like any other traitor and your ashes will be cast out of our holy sanctuary." Her eyes slid to Rolandus. "I trust this meets your standards?"

"We have seen all that we needed to." After a delicate silence he rose and bowed. "I appreciate the time and effort you've taken to accommodate us."

"The execution will happen tomorrow afternoon." Whitemane smiled icily. "While you wait, please treat our monastery as your home."

"Thank you, High Inquisitor." Rolandus and his companions followed Whitemane and Ganelon out of the room. His gaze briefly touched Aumna's face before vanishing from sight.

Herod hefted Aumna up over his shoulder with a disgusted expression and carried her back to the dungeons below. She dangled listlessly in his grip and didn't bother speaking. He paused somewhere in the main hall, whispered to some initiates, and then continued the silent trek to the dungeons. He tossed her into a small cell, but instead of shutting the door and leaving, he leaned against the bars with a book in hand.

"Here to read us a story before the end?" Muvad asked, voice hoarse from screaming. "You're a gentleman."

"Be quiet," Herod muttered and flipped a page.

"Aumna?" He fought against his restraints. "Are you there?"

She opened her eyes, but didn't move. "Didn't think you'd be alive when I came back."

Muvad's bitter laugh ended in a groan. "I've felt worse." After a long pause, he whispered, "you confessed, didn't you?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Aumna pressed her face into the filthy straw. "Let them slowly pluck your innards out like the gears of a gnomish clock?"

"I said be quiet!" Herod straightened and snapped the book shut. "Or neither of you will die quickly."

Muvad snarled, but didn't reply. Aumna merely flopped onto her side and endured the growing burn for sunbane in silence. A maddening, itchy pain radiated from her throat into her belly, and she started chewing her fingers to distract herself. Herod watched her, torn between disgust and amusement, and turned to greet someone.

Two armoured Crusaders and an initiate entered the dungeon. Muvad quivered on the torture table, but didn't flinch when they gave him an appraising eye. The group regarded Aumna in the same fashion, but she remained unmoving.

"This is their leader?"

Herod nodded. "She's the one." His smile suddenly had a frenzied edge. "Light guide us." He handed the book over to the closest Crusader and grabbed Aumna's arm, and dragged her out onto the prison floor. She made a guttural noise and backhanded him across the face with enough force to make him stumble. "Bitch," he hissed and bludgeoned her face with the book's spine. Its ornate metal corners drew blood, but he didn't stop. She snarled and thrashed on the ground like a netted fish.

"Bastards!" Muvad shouted, struggling against his restraints. "You fucking _bastards_!"

Herod laughed in response. "Her right hand," he said, and delivered a well aimed strike to Aumna's temple. The impact reverberated down her body, and her arms and legs gave a single jerk before she went limp. He rolled her over and positioned her head facing right. Her lips moved slowly, dreamily. Her stare was blank.

"Let her go," Muvad howled. "Haven't you taken enough?"

"We're not taking anything." Herod opened the book to a specific page and set it down on the floor. "We're returning what she lost. Isn't that right?" He patted her bloodied cheek affectionately and pressed his knee into her spine. The Crusader and initiate pinned her limbs. She didn't resist. The other Crusader approached with his eyes averted and handed Herod a brightly polished dagger before fleeing the room. A massive ruby sat in its pommel and sacred seals ran up the length of its blade.

Muvad went still. "What are you doing?"

"I'm surprised." Herod smiled. "Haven't you seen an initiation ceremony before?" He gazed down at Aumna, face flushed, and thrusted the dagger into the back of her right hand. She bucked beneath him and screamed into the stone floor. "Don't you remember, Sir Valir?" He gave a vicious turn of the dagger. "The Light never abandons its champions."

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Alright, that's it for now. I'm off to bed. Cheers!


	8. Chapter 8

Why hullo thar! Long time no see. Sorry about the wait, folks. Hospitalization and writer's block do that. I hope you enjoy.

**Warning**: Swearing.

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Chapter 8

* * *

"No."

The air thickened with fury.

"No?" Hoss repeated slowly. "No?"

Faeden raised his chin defiantly. "No," he said again, and turned away to continue his errand. "I have other things to do besides playing diplomat."

"Useless whoreson." Hoss crouched to charge the necromancer, but Kiyarl held up her hand with sudden authority.

"Faeden Gravewhisper, we do not approach you lightly with this task." She walked forward to block his path towards Death's Breach. "I ask you again; will you bear our message to Light's Hope Chapel?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Why?" Faeden's eyes flashed. "They'll know my true nature the moment they lay eyes on me. Your message will be wasted." He glanced away and when he met Kiyarl's gaze again, he was composed. "I would hate to think that Muvad and Aumna are dead, and I could've done something to prevent it, but let's be realistic. The Scarlet Crusade won't let the queasy bellies of a few diplomats get in the way of their prey." He shrugged nonchalantly. "The living are beyond my province, as you well know, priestess."

Rev'n uncrossed his arms and walked to Kiyarl's side. His eyes latched onto Faeden's face with utter malice.

Kiyarl stepped forward. "Do not cross me in this, Faeden." She dropped an overstuffed backpack onto the ground at his feet. "You will do this for us or you will be cast out." Her voice dipped to a menacing whisper. "And I doubt there are many factions left who have heard your name and not cursed it."

Faeden snorted. "You don't have the will to drive me away. You're undead. You barely have the power to keep your flesh from rotting off your bones."

"I am a priestess." Kiyarl's voice was loud and stern. "Your lust to be indispensable leaves you blind to all other things." At his startled glance, her frown deepened. "My eyes see past flesh, living and unliving."

"Aye," Hoss said quietly, eyes turning to Kiyarl.

Faeden stood still for a moment, meeting the eyes of each of his adversaries. He was surprised to see resistance in all of them. "You haven't the will. The undead can't coerce the living." He walked past Kiyarl, up the grassy slope towards his small hut, with an unyielding stride. The force of his determination filled the spaces between them, as if they all stood in a small room.

Kiyarl struggled to turn around. She looked as if she was swimming upstream.

"Stay where you are!" She slammed the butt of her staff on the spoiled ground. "By the goddess, I will bind you to this fate, necromancer." Kiyarl stood up straight, eyes as cold and bright as stars. "You have been exiled by your kin, your king, and even your cult. Who will you ask for aid if not us?" Her eyes softened fractionally. "Do this and your place among us will be assured."

"So, dangle the carrot before the horse, hmm?" Faeden glanced over his shoulder. "Don't insult my intelligence."

She leaned against her staff for a moment, shoulders slumped. "Very well, Faeden, your will is your own." Her eyes narrowed into white-hot slits. "Hoss, fetch me anything that will burn and set it against his home."

Hoss grinned without humour. "Gladly."

Faeden's eyes darted to Hoss, then back to Kiyarl's face. "Are you so desperate?" His sneer cut across his face like a wound. "Are you so afraid of the living?"

"No," Hoss yelled as he walked back down to the town, "it's just a convenient time to crack the whip, isn't it?"

Kiyarl's lips quirked, but her expression remained neutral. "This is all we ask of you. Your honour will not be put into question again."

"Yes," Faeden countered bitterly, "it will."

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Then make it more difficult," she whispered and gestured to Hoss, who had engaged a drudge in a tug-of-war over salvaged timber. He caught her movement and returned to her side with a petulant expression. "We have never asked favours of you, human. Many of us heard whispers of your name, one of the great Thuzadin, but when you came to live among us, we did not object to your claim."

Rev'n snorted and raised his brows in disbelief. At Kiyarl's cutting look, he pointed to himself. I did.

Hoss scowled, eyes as hard as amber. "You might think you're a god among mortals, gobshite, but you're just a traitor." He rested his hand on his pommel. "You're worthless," he hissed, "and I won't think twice about killing you for even the smallest chance to save Aumna and Muvad."

After a tense silence, Rev'n gurgled, brows raised in approval.

"Bravely said," Faeden replied scathingly, "especially when you outnumber me."

Hoss released a short, sharp laugh. "We've learned a thing or two from you, friend."

Faeden regarded each of them individually, eyes glittering with indecision. His fingers twitched with anticipation, but the ready expressions of all three undead made him hesitate. His eyes fell to the backpack at Kiyarl's feet.

"You haven't the right to call me traitor. I've never betrayed you."

"No," Kiyarl replied, "you haven't." She regarded him wearily. "What is your decision?"

Faeden tossed her an irritated look as he bent down and snatched up the backpack. "I'm not a traitor," he muttered, "and I've a right to choose my loyalties. If I do this, you're in my debt."

"I understand," she whispered as if the entire sky pressed down upon her shoulders. He studied her face for a moment, then nodded and brushed past them. No one caught the triumph in his eyes as he hefted the backpack over his right shoulder.

"Have you everything here?" He didn't break pace. "Are there, dare I ask, basic necessities?"

"Everything we have to give is in there." Kiyarl leaned against her staff, eyes half-lidded. "Elune light your pa—"

"Don't waste your goddess on him," Hoss interrupted. "He'll have the blessing of my sword and be glad for it."

Kiyarl placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you certain?" Her fingers were skeletal and pale, but carried authority. He merely nodded. "Ande'thoras-ethil," she whispered fiercely.

"Bye, Ki." His gaze shifted to Rev'n, whose eyes were veiled. "Blood elf." He turned and ran across Death's Breach until his pace matched Faeden's. The necromancer spared him a flinty glance, but made no objection. Together, they walked into the tunnel that connected the coastline with the rest of the Plaguelands. Neither looked back.

The air inside the tunnel was thick and stale. Their footsteps echoed loudly around them and emphasized the ominous stillness of the mist ahead. Beyond the tunnel's mouth, the ground sloped downward into the Noxious Glade that cut through the mountains. Nestled within it were great pinwheels and sharply-edged temples built by the Scourge. Hoss paused on the hill's crest and studied the land.

"Are you afraid?" Faeden pinned him with a dead-eyed look. "This place has been raided by Mograine's death knights many times."

"And each time they found Scourge forces." Hoss slowly walked down the rocky path, head constantly moving back and forth. Nothing moved except the great spiked wheels, which slowly spun in the wind. Faeden's presence at his back felt as cold and sharp as a knifepoint. He drew his sword and shield as the path took them around an abandoned fire pit. Orange mist thickened at the western end of the clearing. Beyond the ruined gates that had once guarded the area, mushrooms loomed overhead like trees. The ground underneath their feet was soft, rotten, and purple.

"Strange," he added quietly.

Faeden spared him another flat look before walking down the slope. He kneeled by an old campsite and stirred the ashes. "These are a few weeks old." He chuckled darkly. "I'm beginning to think the Scourge is worried about us."

The open space around them suddenly felt saturated with hostility. Hoss glared at the mist-riddled meadow, but nothing moved. "The Ebon Blade hasn't set foot in this place for days." He scowled to himself. "Perhaps it would've been better to risk walking through Tyr's Hand."

"Oh, yes," Faeden muttered as he stood up, "our success with the Argent Crusade would be guaranteed with the ashes of the dead on our boots."

Hoss lowered his head to hide his embarrassment. "Better to send a message than none at all."

"Mm."

They continued downwards towards the narrowed end of the clearing. The sun slowly grinded its way across the sky until it sat impaled on the mountain peaks, its light thrown in jagged streaks across the ground. Hoss became tenser as shadows grew and thickened and gave a false sense of movement, but Faeden appeared unperturbed. It took less then an hour to reach the other side, but a sense of being known quivered in the air.

And then Hoss knew why.

The path cut through a hill and created steep cliffs on either side that hung over the road like fingers curling into a fist. A classic ambush point. Even Faeden hesitated in front of the gate. He turned around, a strange anger wedged in his eyes like a sliver. "I sense no undead," he murmured silkily, "but it would be foolish to deny that someone is there." His gaze touched Hoss's threadbare Alliance tabard. "I wonder if they once wore that uniform."

Hoss bared his teeth. "And I suppose you wouldn't hesitate to cut down one of the Thuzadin?"

Faeden laughed violently. "No," he said, an unhinged sort of amusement in his voice, "I don't suppose I would."

"You're mad." Hoss fished out his goggles and approached the gate as quietly as he could manage. He was used to the sudden zoom of the lenses, but braced himself against a nearby mushroom stalk to steady his vision. The wind shifted and grew in strength, and the shifting grasses made it difficult to track any anomalous movement.

After a moment, Faeden asked, "Well? What do you see?"

"Nothing but grass."

Faeden laughed like a masochist face-down in broken glass. "Perhaps you won't get to bloody your comrades after all."

"Quiet you mad bastard." Hoss scanned both cliffs to no avail. After a long pause, his shoulders drooped, and he dared a quick glance at his companion. He turned back in time to catch a blur of silver over the cliff's edge. Whether it had been a weapon or armoured man was impossible to tell, but it was answer enough. "There," he said after a moment, "I caught a peek. They're there."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Scarlet Crusade, probably." Hoss stowed his goggles away and surveyed the glade. "They'll not be wanting our news to grace unprejudiced ears."

"So, we'll draw blood after all." Faeden cast demon skin upon himself. "You needn't worry, then. I'll kill them all."

Hoss stood at his side, but his mouth thinned in disapproval. "I'm not so sure killing 'em is a good idea," he muttered quietly, eyes trailing up the stalk of a nearby mushroom.

"Are you afraid?"

"Of the Scarlet Crusade? No." He looked at Faeden. "I don't like whatever drives your will, necromancer." When there was no response, he continued on in a nervous babble. "I have a plan that might work, but I'll need your help. You won't have to dirty your hands too much, but I think the results will be to your liking."

Faeden's unwavering stare lingered for a moment, then relented. "A captain's boots are hard to fill," he replied snidely, "let's hope you get used to it."

Hoss turned towards the small mushroom to his right to hide his enraged expression. "Have you ever worked with dynamite before?"

"No."

"Well then, you're in for an adventure." Hoss removed a slender red cylinder from his backpack. "This is my last one." He stood by the mushroom and tapped it. "Sounds hollow. I'll need your powers to weaken the…" he struggled for the right word, "skin of it."

"You want me to curse a mushroom?"

"Well you don't have to feckin say it like that."

Faeden regarded him strangely. "Hmm," was all he said, and commanded ragged green energy to slice across the mushroom's pale stalk. It immediately created a soggy dark patch that Hoss easily tore open. The mushroom's trunk was nearly thrice the circumference of his arm, but while its insides had grown weak and hollow on the hillside, its outer trunk remained hard and unyielding. He cleaned the inside of moisture and obstructions, then carefully tested the stalk wall. As he'd hoped, Faeden's curse weakened a precise circle in the stalk. After double checking the mushroom's angle towards the cliffs, he loaded the dynamite like a bullet into a barrel, and shoved it in as far as he could. After a furtive glance at the cliffs, he walked backwards, fuse carefully laid down across the ground, it ran out half-way across the clearing.

Hoss grinned boyishly. "One way or another, this'll be entertaining." He removed a flint from his belt pouch and jabbed it against his striker. It took four tries, but its spark caught on the fuse and devoured its length. Both of them scurried to the safety of the opposite side of the clearing, where hills angled towards the path and were littered by boulders and a ruined necropolis. They had just reached a broken pillar when the detonation happened. A bright light impaled the gloom, followed by a concussive blast that rocked the earth and threw them off their feet. Screaming filled the silence afterward. Screaming and swearing.

"Are you capable of being professional at anything?" Faeden yanked his mask down under his chin. "What the hell was that?"

"Umm," Hoss scratched his chin, "I thought it would take longer."

"You're such a fool. Come on! Quickly!" Faeden leapt over the fallen debris towards the southern path. A smoking stump remained where the mushroom had once stood, the cap rolling comically up the cliff top. The wind carried the smoke and fine dust upwards towards the cliffs, a sickly shroud that obscured the narrow ravine from view. "What is that?"

"It's dust from the mushrooms," Hoss whispered. "It's called the Toxic Glade. Where do you think Rev'n gets his poisons?" He bowed low and scurried down the road. When Faeden nodded and followed, he darted down the decline, eyes fixed straight ahead. The outraged shouting turned into raw, animalistic cries. Hoss grimaced and kept moving. The mist was quickly settling around them, leaving them visible for anyone who cared to look. He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see Faeden leaning heavily against the wall, arms slack. Hoss backtracked and grabbed the necromancer's elbow, and then led them out of the glade with his shield raised against an ambush that didn't come.

The neglected path opened into a broad view of the Eastern Plaguelands. Hills rolled towards the obscured, misty horizon. Light's Hope Chapel stood to the southeast, invisible behind the steep mountains that cut off the land's interior from the Forbidding Sea.

Faeden bumped into Hoss, who jumped and spun around. "What are you doing?" He rasped, eyes darting nervously.

"I was walking. I think I was walking. Why did you stop?" Faeden shoved him away. "Incompetent jackass."

"Arsehole." Hoss shook his head and circled around the cliff base. Up above, silhouettes struck violent, trembling poses. "Right so. Looks like they're busy. Let's go while we can."

"Mmhmm." Faeden lowered his head and gazed into the distance. "When we approach the chapel, keep your mouth shut. We'll be walking on consecrated ground. It's very important."

"Never liked talking to the higher ups, anyway." Hoss gave him an appraising glance. "Just so you know, though, I'm all out of dynamite. There'll be no more rescues that way."

"Mograine and his death knights couldn't take the chapel." He glanced at the contorted figures on the cliffs. "The only way we'll come back is if the Argent Crusade allows it." He took a single step and promptly fell face-first into the dirt.

Hoss stared for a moment. "Well…shite."

* * *

Catch ya later. R&R if you like.


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning**: Torture, Herod being a douche, trauma, and plot. Lots and lots of plot.

O hai. After weeks of tearing out my hair, this is the result. So here you go. Hope you enjoy. It's unedited, but oh well.

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Chapter 9

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Someone was screaming.

Aumna shut her eyes. Herod's heartbeat thundered in her ears, made it impossible to think clearly. She clenched her teeth and focused on the pain in her hand, the unique agony Light inflicted on the Dark. Her craving for sunbane had risen to a constant, excruciating thrum that sapped strength from her limbs. The floor's stillness poured into her bones, rendered her immobile. Shouts and laughter whirled overhead in a thick mess of sound.

"Do you feel it now, monster?" Herod laughed and the dagger made a particularly vicious twist. "Do you?"

Aumna tore her eyes away from the blade carving into her flesh and forced her head to gaze the opposite way. Only Muvad's feet were visible from that angle, but his legs strained and quivered against the bonds that held him on the table. He was screaming. His voice was ragged from torture, but he wouldn't stay quiet. The table he had been tied down to wobbled precariously on its stand. Even when one of the Crusaders approached with a promising edge to his smile, Muvad kept struggling. Willpower rolled off of him in waves. The determination in his quivering limbs resembled that of a living man's. She watched as the Crusader's hand dipped beyond her sight, and the flash of gold and stench of burnt flesh made his cries rise in pitch.

Herod wrenched her head the other way, eyes glinting beadily from beneath his helmet. She caught a glimpse of two pale blue smears in the dagger's blade. Her eyes. **His** eyes.

For a moment, the paralyzing weight of sunbane withdrawal lightened. Aumna bared her teeth and between tight, controlled gasps hissed, "No."

Herod actually paused. "What?"

"Not a monster." She shut her eyes. "I am…." She reached for the right word. The right feeling. "I…."

"Yes?" He prompted mockingly.

"I once championed two kings." A cold snap of power hurled Herod against the ceiling. He landed on a table and rolled off its edge in a limp heap. The dagger clattered noisily on the floor and reflected a perfect slice of firelight. Aumna glanced over her shoulder to see the Crusaders and initiate sprawled backwards. Snowflakes swirled around the room and extinguished the torches. The room's temperature plummeted and a frozen silence settled on them like a thin, inflexible layer of ice. Everything vanished into darkness.

Except her hand.

Aumna stared at her mangled flesh. The sigil released a muted golden luminescence and tingled uncomfortably. Herod groaned and rolled over, ice crackling under his weight. The pain in her hand and stomach was dizzying, but she turned her palm upwards and remained still.

"Champion of two kings," he rasped malevolently, "and yet you hide in the dark." There was a scrabbling noise and the jingle of mail. "Come out, death knight! Let me finish your blessing."

Aumna shut her eyes and planted her face firmly against the floor. The mellow pleasure of sunbane had completely evaporated and she was left trembling like an old woman. Herod kicked one of his companions, who groaned piteously, and ordered him to get up. He didn't. Herod's footsteps were cautious but steady, and slowly approached where Aumna had curled up on the floor. She froze when he spoke next.

"Ah, there you are." His mailed fist hit something metal and Muvad groaned raggedly. "Surely a lady of the order won't let one of her own be treated in such a way." His armour jingled again and Muvad's broken gasp brimmed with pain. He laughed softly. "Champion of the Scourge. I wonder why the Lich King would tolerate such a weakling in his ranks." Muvad made no sound, but she could hear his restraints rattle against the table. "A coward in life is a coward in death." A rasp cut through the darkness. Not from Muvad's mouth, but an unsheathed blade. "I suppose he won't die quickly after all."

"I'm not responsible," she whispered to herself. "I'm not I'm not I'm not."

And then Muvad cut through the haze like a sword through flesh. His need craved an answer she had once provided.

"Aumna…."

Before she had doubted.

"I can't do this."

Before she had despaired.

"Please."

Before she had failed.

"_Help me._"

Herod laughed. A torch was relit in the far right corner. Aumna saw the shadows flutter along the stone floor. She looked over her shoulder and met the Scarlet Champion's eye. He held his axe overhead in a heroic poise that mocked the monastery's old statues. Muvad stared at her with an unfathomable expression. Then she understood.

He wanted her to be the last thing he saw.

Aumna moved without thinking. Herod grunted when her shoulder slammed into his solar plexus and stumbled backwards, axe flailing wildly. It caught her in the ribs and sank deep into her abdomen. She kept pushing until his body was pinned to the cell wall. The Crusader who had lit the torch hurled an exorcism spell at her back. It was a poor shot. Holy magic scalded her shoulder instead, and spattered her right hand and arm like acid. She stumbled back, wounded hand flooded by white-hot agony, and he scored a deep stroke across her thigh. A fatal thrum beat in her dorsum. Her leg buckled and she crumpled against a table leg. He reached her before Herod did, crimson helmet glinting in the light, and held his sword up for the killing blow. Most of his face was concealed, but his eyes reflected some of the light.

"Don't you dare!" Herod shoved him aside. "This bitch belongs to me."

Aumna bared her teeth and spat on his boot. Herod picked her up by the throat and shook her, his face split into an angry smile. She pounded his exposed arms, but her left fist felt as limp and soft as soggy bread. He laughed and tossed her against the wall. Muvad strained to touch her as she slid to the floor, but they were too far apart.

She nearly laughed at herself. She had gone from one of the heroes of the Alliance, one of the most savage Scourge, to _this_.

Herod loomed overhead, his massive body eclipsing the torchlight. Aumna watched light glitter across his axe as he hefted it up for the killing blow. She wasn't as scared as she had thought she would be. Muvad moaned a weak denial as she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the final, bottomless dark.

Apocalyptic white flashed in the darkness behind her eyelids. Pain surged through her bones. Her muscles spasmed involuntarily. Her eyes snapped open and a howl tore its way out of her throat. An ethereal bell thundered between her ears. It felt like being burned from the inside out.

Light exploded in the space between them. A thin corona flared overhead and deflected the axe with a deafening crack. Herod stumbled backwards, then found his balance and swung again with a furious roar. He was repelled a second time, voice lost in the hum of power. Aumna writhed on the stone floor, right arm curled against her ribs. The smouldering arch thinned, but instead of dissipating, it poured back into her hand like lava spilling into a sea. The room lost focus, detail, and colour. She screamed. She knew she kept screaming because she could feel the vibrations in her throat, but everything was a silent, stupefying smear. Herod could have dismembered her and the pain would have been unnoticeable in comparison.

Aumna caught a glimpse of her hand. The unfinished seal glowed like heated steel. It sang. The otherworldly chime of Holy power resonated within the room until her eardrums felt ready to burst. Every blood vessel in her hand was perfectly silhouetted. Her skin had taken on the white, fragile look of porcelain.

The Light! It was the _Light_.

She didn't lose consciousness, but as the Scarlet torture chamber blurred and swam, another layer of awareness fell across it. A face appeared overhead. A living face. Her face. Blue eyes, white-blonde hair, dimples, a smile. The other woman reached out and touched her. It felt strange, like being breached, but there was no pain. Only a sense of being alloyed with something else.

And then the living Aumna laughed and said, "It's about time you pulled your head out of your arse," before everything faded into whiteness. As if she was back on Mount Hyjal and the World Tree had detonated all over again. She hung suspended in that memory, astonished she had ever forgotten it.

Reality returned in increments.

Small, agonizing, soul-scouring increments.

Beads of colours tumbled into the centre of her vision. Locked together. Slowly, very slowly, formed into something Aumna could understand. She stared at a high vaulted ceiling. The torture chamber hadn't had a high vaulted ceiling. The distant murmur of conversation echoed around her in whispers. Candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls. An old Lordaeron oriflamme hung overhead. Someone sat nearby.

Muvad held her left hand clasped between his own and pressed it against his helmet as if in prayer. His shoulders trembled, but he made no sound.

"Oh, hell," she croaked, "am I dead yet?"

He jerked upright and stared at her. Just stared. Then a happy, blood stained smile spread across his face. "No, you're not." His voice wobbled with suppressed emotion. "I have no idea how you're not dead, but you're not." He shut his eyes for a moment and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. "Bones, Aumna, I haven't been so scared in all of my unliving days."

Aumna grimaced, but didn't pull away. "What…?"

"We're safe for the moment. Rolandus came to the rescue." He jerked his chin to the other side of the room, where several shapes moved in the gloom. "Downed the lot of them. Even saved one of the survivors from Tyr's Hand." Muvad leaned close. "He's a self-righteous arsehole, but he killed Herod. Stripped him of the Light right then and there and executed him as a heretic. Even made him weep. That is one bloody scary man."

She closed her eyes and sighed.

"We're hidden in some old part of the monastery. Whitemane's lackeys are combing the place looking for us, but the young lad needed rest. He's the only survivor now. They killed the others last night. One was his mum." Muvad fixed her with a heavy look. "It was a good place to rest and grieve."

Aumna glanced at her right hand. Most of her lower arm was swathed in frostweave bandages. She felt no pain, only numbness fringed by burning discomfort. It smelled like putrid flesh. "I've begun to decay," she said after a moment, "haven't I?"

Muvad pressed his lips into a thin line. "I don't know." He prevented her from peeling the bandages away. "Don't. You were burned by the Light, Aumna. Badly burned. Leave it be."

"Oh." She let her hand flop bonelessly across her stomach and winced when it disturbed the bandages there. "I…saw myself," she mumbled, "at Mount Hyjal. Everything was so bright. And clear." Her eyes glistened, unblinking. "He made me forget. Arthas, I mean. He took it away. Isn't that so petty?"

"It is," he replied quietly and drew her left hand down onto the table. "Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Good."

Aumna stared blankly at the ceiling, composing herself. "Why didn't you cut off my hand?"

Muvad didn't reply immediately. When he did, his voice was hushed. "We thought about it." His amber gaze swept over her face. "But…."

"But we didn't believe you'd survive," Rolandus spoke after Muvad lapsed into silence. He stood a respectful distance away, blood spattered across his golden armour. When neither undead spoke again, he walked closer with his hands clasped behind his back. "I have never seen a wound like this," he gestured to her bandages, "but I have no doubt tampering with the seal may start a fresh reaction."

Aumna regarded him coldly. "I want to see it."

"I don't think that's a good idea…."

"Shut-up, Muvad." Her eyes never left Rolandus' face. "Show me now."

Rolandus met her stare stoically. "I agree with your captain, but…if that's what you want." He shrugged and began to unravel to bandages. The smell was immediate and sickly sweet. A zinging pain shot through her entire arm and she gasped, but didn't ask him to stop.

The sigil glowed in the dimness. Her entire arm was beset by gangrenous black patches, but below the elbow, angry red threads streaked across her skin. Her hand was red and waxy, except for the area immediately around the seal.

Aumna stared for a long moment. "That's…." She violently turned away.

"Yes," Rolandus said quietly, "that's living flesh."

A heavy silence settled between them. Aumna steeled herself and looked at the ruin that had once been her hand. Living skin marbled her dorsum in ugly pink splotches. She shut her eyes, then opened them with irrational determination, and forced herself upright. If felt like knife's edge cutting across the ridges of her spine.

Muvad stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"What you should've done." Aumna snatched the pile of discarded bandages and began wrapping them around her right arm, then clenched the excess between her teeth. She grasped Muvad's sword out of its sheath before he could decide to resist or not, leaned forward, and pressed her arm as flat as she could against the table.

"You can't be serious." Rolandus stepped forward to intervene. She merely shook her head. "You won't be able to take if off like that. Not in one swing." Her eyes met his, bright blue and on the brink, and raised Muvad's claymore over her head with a steadiness only undead possessed. Whatever Rolandus saw in her face made him lapse into silence. Muvad watched in horrified fascination.

"Don't," he whispered, and stood up, hand reaching for hers.

Aumna drove the claymore down with all the strength the Lich King had given her. The sword whistled like an arrow and found its mark with unnatural precision. Its tip broke through the table's weathered wooden panels underneath her arm and allowed blood to dribble through. None of them looked away. Aumna shook, eyes wide but focused, and released the claymore. It leaned at a drunken angle, then slowly tipped onto its side with a tinny ring. She didn't utter a sound.

White-gold waves of power erupted from the sigil. Blood stopped dripping. Flesh rejoined, changed, burned alive. The ethereal peal of bells filled the air.

**Inescapable**.

Aumna screamed, then, as the Light devoured her.

* * *

I apologize for nothing.


End file.
